


Clothes

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Clothing Kink, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shirt - Dean and Cas in a changing room<br/>T shirt - Dean gets possessive when Cas wears his clothes<br/>Shorts - Dean is on a diet<br/>Holy tax accountant - the trenchcoat makes a late night appearance</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shirt

“Cas. C'mere,”

 

Dean sticks his head around the curtain of the changing room and beckons him over. He watches as Cas steadily rises to his feet from a chair in the waiting area and comes forward, a curious look on his face.

 

“How's this look?”

 

Dean pushes back the curtain and there's a faint clinking sound as the curtain rings catch on the pole. Dean's hand brushes down the length of the curtain before falling to his side, fingers drumming against his leg.

 

He stands, waiting Cas' judgement.

 

Cas' eyes start at the floor, rising slowly, slowly up Dean's jean-cladded legs. His gaze pauses at Dean's crotch, and Dean swallows, waiting, before Cas' eyes flick over every inch of the shirt Dean's trying on, a slow smile spreading across his face.

 

“I like this one,” he decides, crooking a finger indicating for Dean to turn around.

 

Dean spins once for him, arms slightly flared out, turning back to enjoy the look of appreciation Cas gives him.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean's eyes flit away, and he peers around Cas briefly to see if anyone is nearby before reaching out for him, dragging him forward into the cubicle, and closing the curtain firmly behind him with a swoosh.

 

The cubicle is so small that they have to stand chest to chest in order to fit.

 

Dean's hands raise, fingers slowly stroking over Cas' stubble as he cups his jaw and tilts his face up to kiss him.

 

Cas groans into his mouth, hands pressed against his chest, fingers spread wide.

 

Dean smiles against his lips after a moment, hands dropping to rest on Cas' hips. “We probably shouldn't get carried away and crease up this shirt too much before I buy it.”

 

“In that case we should take it off, don't you think?”

 

Cas' hands fall to the bottom of the shirt and slowly, pressing his fingers into Dean's skin, begins to unbutton it, all the way up. This takes a long, long time, with Cas flicking his tongue into Dean's mouth with every undone button.

 

Once completely undone, Cas pushes the shirt carefully off of Dean's shoulders, and in a twist of his wrist hangs it on the hook to their side. His hands are back on Dean's skin then, stroking over it reverently as though he is unable to get enough.

 

Dean's hands slip round to grip Cas' ass, and he grinds up against him.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean and Cas stop their movements, perfectly still.

 

They hear a shuffling sound from behind the curtain and an embarrassed clearing of a throat.

 

“Dean,” Sam repeats again. “I can hear you, you know.”

 

Dean looks at Cas and finds a smirk there, before Cas leans to lick his way back into his mouth once more, huffing a gravelly, “I'll wait outside,” as he swings back the curtain.

 

Dean watches Sam in the mirror, biting back a laugh as Sam ducks his head in embarrassment. Even though he has his back to him, Dean can tell from Cas' stance that his look is one of unconcerned nonchalance.

 

Dean lets the laugh out and it is full of mirth, and he swings the curtain shut once more to get changed, shaking his head at the stunted questions he hears Sam asking whilst Cas' answers remain perfectly level and unaffected.

 


	2. T-shirt

Sam notices a trend, and it's a while before all the bits fit together to form a picture that he really, really wishes he can somehow unsee.

 

The first time his synapses fire in recognition of something off kilter, Cas is wearing a faded, oversized t-shirt with the Rolling Stones tongue protruding down the front. Dean looks up from where he's sat with a book, watching with narrowed eyes as Cas helps himself to coffee, before turning to gesture to both Dean and Sam to see if they need a refill.

 

Both nod.

 

As Cas tops off their drinks, Dean's eyes drift down the print slowly, and his eyes remain fixed on Cas' back as he returns the jug to the side.

 

Cas pauses, fingertips drumming against the cleft beneath his lip, before reaching up to a high shelf to pull down a box of crackers.

 

Dean's eyes fly to the exposed skin where the t-shirt has risen up and there is a strange, strangled grunt that comes from somewhere in the back of his throat.

 

The second time alarm bells begin ringing, Cas and Sam have just got back from a run and have been caught in a deluge of rain. They both head straight for the shower, with Dean mocking them from the couch with a bowl of chips resting on his stomach and a book in his hand. When Sam comes out of the shower he catches Cas shaking his wet hair all over Dean and making him jump up in protest.

 

Sam enjoys that a lot.

 

Only, minutes later, Cas wanders back through, barefoot and wearing a t-shirt and a pair of joggers that clearly are Dean's from the way they slide down to reveal a lot of skin. He's towelling his hair dry obliviously, clearly heading for the laundry, and Dean's eyes lock on the patch of skin that's showing with a heated expression on his face.

 

Dean absently places the bowl on the floor without his eyes ever leaving Cas and stands, slowly, like a panther watching its prey. He stalks up behind Cas, skimming his hand over the gap between his clothes and up under the front of his t-shirt, pulling him hard back against Dean’s chest.

 

The third time, when the klaxons really get going and clammer for Sam's attention, Cas is wearing a long sleeved black t-shirt. It's clear from the way he has to keep pushing up the sleeves and the t-shirt hangs a little loosely on his neck, that it doesn't belong to him.

 

Dean bursts through the door with two bags of groceries secured in his arms, setting them down on the table with a heavy thud. He nods at Sam in greeting, and shoots a wink in Cas' direction, before his eyes drop down to Cas' chest and his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

 

The air between Cas and Dean is thick with a kind of tension that makes Sam feel like he is prying.  He doesn't know if it's Dean's lust-blown eyes, or his low, steadying breath that's more unsettling, but when Dean paces slowly towards Cas with an expression full of possession, he doesn't believe it’s because Dean wants to reclaim his clothes.

 

Or maybe he does.

 

Either way. Sam's certain he needs to be anywhere but where he is in about two seconds, unless he wants to be witness to activities that a little brother should never, ever, have to be witness to.


	3. Shorts

“You taste good, Cas,”

 

Dean flicks out his tongue to chase the taste of him off his own lip, and Cas rewards him with a grin before turning away.

 

Dean watches Cas lift a spoon to his mouth again, loaded with thick, creamy cheesecake dripping an oozing lemon topping, and breathes sharply as Cas sucks it in, whole.

 

Cas chews, swallows, and moans, then leans back across to Dean, forcing his tongue into his mouth.

 

Dean's eyes flutter closed as Cas paints flavour on to his tongue.

 

“Are you certain you do not want dessert of your own, Dean?”

 

“Quit tempting me, Cas,” Dean groans in response, leaning over and pressing his hands down on Cas' thighs, nudging his mouth open with a gentle bite to the corner.

 

When he pulls back, Dean humphs softly at the mirth in Cas' eyes.

 

“I still fail to understand your need to 'watch what you eat', Dean. You look perfectly fine to me.” Cas' eyes flick down, and slowly drift a hunger-filled path up Dean's body. “More than fine, actually. As you well know.”

 

Dean glows vaguely pink under Cas' praise, but smiles anyway. “I shouldn't be out of puff as much as I am. I cut back on a few desserts, do a little exercise,” he pats his stomach, believing he can feel a slight wobble beneath his fingers, “I'll be back to my hot self in no time.”

 

Cas chuckles, low and dirty, before lazily climbing to his feet and sliding smoothly down to straddle Dean's lap.

 

“I have already offered my services as part of your exercise regime,” he mumbles against Dean's lips, and Dean's hands grip onto Cas' hips, rolling his up against him.

 

“I seem to remember I've taken you up on that offer multiple times.”

 

“There is no expiration date on the offer,” Cas replies softly, pressing his heels into the floor so that he can lever himself up better to rock down onto Dean.

 

Dean groans against him, gripping tighter. “Good to know,”

 

“Although,” Cas muses, continuing a long, steady grind against him as he speaks, “I confess that I am quite pleased that you have started running with Sam,”

 

“Oh really,” Dean whispers against Cas' ear, feeling him shudder as his nose brushes along it, “And why's that, Cas?”

 

“Shorts.” Cas rasps out as Dean bites down on his neck and licks a slow tongue over the wound, “You wear shorts when you go running. I enjoy seeing that immensely.”

 


	4. Holy tax accountant

Cas hasn't worn his trademark suit, tie and trenchcoat for so long, that when Sam first sees a familiar tan-coloured back to him in the kitchen he's a little startled.

 

“Cas?” he calls out uncertainly, taking another step forward and rubbing his eyes, “That you?”

 

Cas goes perfectly still.

 

“Hello, Sam,” he calls softly over his shoulder, and there's something in his tone that makes Sam highly suspicious.

 

“You okay there?”

 

Sam watches as Cas fumbles with some things out of his sight on the counter before him, nodding his head.

 

“I am fine, Sam. Is it not a little late?”

 

It is late, Sam can concede that, something like two in the morning, but he's just finished watching a film and felt in need of a drink and snack before sleep. He presumes that's what Cas is doing too, now that he thinks about it, chiding himself for his unneeded suspicion.

 

“I could say the same for you,” he replies, smiling at the back of Cas' head.

 

“Dean was hungry,” is Cas' only reply, and Sam wants to feel affection for the way Cas will do anything for his brother, as well as slight annoyance on Cas' behalf that he's the one up feeding Dean's need for late night food.

 

“He can't get up himself?”

 

Cas' shoulders tense.

 

“Dean is... indisposed,” Cas replies, carefully, starting to turn, but keeping his face away from the direction of Sam.

 

“’ _ Indisposed _ ?’ What does that even mean?” Sam retorts with a huff.

 

It's then that his eyes register something that is missing.

 

He looks down, seeing Cas' bare feet, and legs, and sucks in a breath when it dawns on him. Cas might be wearing his trenchcoat, but he is  _ only  _ wearing his trenchcoat, and nothing more.

 

Cas notices that Sam has noticed, and rapidly gathers up his things.

 

When he turns, Sam can see he has two spoons and a carton of ice cream, and out of his hand tumbles a bottle of syrup that they both watch in horror as it does a slow motion spin to the floor.

 

It rolls towards Sam, bouncing off of his socked foot, and by reflex Sam bends to pick it up.

 

And makes the mistake of looking up.

 

Huh. Not  _ just _ the trenchcoat, he thinks dumbly, taking in the tie loose around Cas' neck.

 

Unfortunately, in his haste to disappear, Cas hasn't quite gathered himself together, because his trenchcoat is gaping open and Sam can see that-

 

Sam's thoughts come to an abrupt, stuttering halt.

 

Naked. Shit. Cas is mostly naked. Pretty much all naked, if you think about it, but Sam doesn't want to think about that. Sam absolutely does not want to think about that, not at all.

 

Naked Cas is Dean's area of expertise.

 

Sam closes his eyes in pain at that thought, and all that goes with it.

 

Straightening up slowly, as though in the presence of an easily-startled animal, Sam stands. He watches as Cas realises his appearance, quickly wraps the trenchcoat around him, with his eyes growing wider and his entire face flushing scarlet red.

 

Sam hands over the syrup bottle, unable to make eye contact, closing them in agony at the pictures rapidly forming behind them.

 

His mind gleefully reminds him of Cas' comment about Dean being indisposed, and he lets out a tortured whimper.

 

Lightening quick, Sam darts to the fridge, the cupboard and the fruit bowl, grabbing a bottle of water, a bag of chips, and a banana respectively, holding them against his chest.

 

He stops once more in front of Cas, scrabbling for some suitable words to say.

 

Cas' eyes drop to Sam's chest, and cause his to do the same. In cruel, cosmic alignment, he finds that the banana he’s picked up juts up proudly in his arms. Sam lets out wail, rapidly rearranging the things in his hands, before scuttling away on his heels.

 

“Night, Cas,” he shouts hoarsely, hearing Cas' quiet reply in the distance as he races down the hall, absolutely not looking in through the ajar door of Dean's room as he passes it on the way to his own.


End file.
